


That Jerk of My Brother

by turante



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Mycroft-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turante/pseuds/turante
Summary: Mycroft wakes up with absolutely no recollection of the previous night and a series of messages he left to himself.





	That Jerk of My Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt found on the Sherlock Kink Meme.

There was a morning when Mycroft woke up with a stiff neck, at his desk in his office, with absolutely _no_ recollection of the previous night.

His tie was on a shelf of his library, partially tucked between two copies of Sun Tzu’s "The Art of War", one in English, the other in its original Chinese.

His shirt was buttoned wrong and left open at his neck, he missed the belt and had a post-it stuck on his right cheek. With a grimace, because simply sitting upright was terrible for his headache, he peeled it off.

It read:

_ Be angry at Sherlock _

No big revealing epiphanies followed, a bit disappointed and confused, he tried to get up and reach his tie.

He probably should have thought about that a little longer, and he accepted the fact that sitting was still the best option. He buzzed the intercom for his PA and asked for some tea and painkillers.

A couple of minutes later she walked in pushing a cart that held a tea set with some steaming hot tea and a box of over the counter analgesics. Her other hand held her faithful Blackberry.

"Sir, you sent me a text last night." She then showed him the screen.

_ Remind me to be angry at my brother -Mycroft _

He blinked, it was beginning to be something serious. He thanked her and she left him alone without even betraying an expression of wonder at his unusual state of undress.

He drank some tea and took a pill, then turned on his computer.

He had a note on his desktop that said:

_ Kill Sherlock first, beg forgiveness from mummy later. _

He unbuttoned his shirt and then started doing the buttons right starting from the top. What the hell had Sherlock done the night before to make him so angry?

He checked his computer. He had _seven_ new word documents, and all of them said:

_ Remember to be extremely angry at your jerk of a brother. _

Seriously. What had Sherlock done to him?!

Apparently, he had even sent himself an email along the same lines.

He got up and retrieved his tie from the library, put it on, tied the knot, then scanned the room for his waistcoat.

It was on top of the bin, which, upon the removal of his clothing, revealed a content of several empty condom wrappers, an empty bottle of tequila and some files from his locked cabinet.

At least one of those items explained his headache.

He put on his waistcoat and the jacket, which was on the back of his chair. He took out his phone and checked the last sent and received messages.

RECEIVED:

_Get your pompous ass to 221B. Need info on case -SH_

The message came from John’s number, but this was a detail that didn’t surprise Mycroft in the slightest. 

SENT:

_Will be there in 5 -Mycroft_

So, he had gone to Baker Street the night before. It still didn’t explain how he had ended up at his desk that morning. Nothing explained anything. Unless, of course, he returned to Baker Street and confronted his brother.

He got to the door and reached with his right hand for his umbrella.

It wasn’t there.

"Bloody Sherlock Holmes!" he exclaimed, like half the criminals in London.


End file.
